


Mischief Managed

by story_monger



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Men of Letters Bunker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 04:21:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3105557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/story_monger/pseuds/story_monger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prank wars in the bunker spell danger for all involved</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mischief Managed

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted in response to prompt on [tumblr](http://story-monger.tumblr.com/post/101393911557/mischief-managed)

Sam knew objectively speaking that height had nothing to do with a person’s ability to take care of themselves. He’d taught enough knuckle heads that lesson back in middle and high school. That didn’t stop Sam from feeling something peculiarly close to outrage when Dean roped Kevin into the bunker’s latest prank war.

It had been Castiel’s fault, ironically enough, when he was entrusted with the shopping one weekend and somehow came home with a can of Nair. (The last time he’d been shopping without supervision he adopted a chia pet. It’s still sitting on the kitchen counter. Cas waters it religiously.) Dean, naturally, couldn’t resist recreating the Nair Incident on Sam and Sam had to retaliate with superglue in Dean’s jacket, only that turned out to be the jacket Castiel liked to borrow. Castiel, probably with prodding from Dean, rebuked Sam with a bowl of seemingly innocent chicken soup that turned out to be swimming in cayenne pepper.

All bets were off after that. The bunker became a place of unholy terror.

Kevin tolerated all this with the kind of single-minded focus on his tablet work that probably gave him ‘A’s in all his AP classes. Sam could sympathize, and left him out of any nonsense. He remembered what it was like to try and study when he was surrounded by roommates who insisted on acting like ten-year-olds.

Dean, it turned out, didn’t have any such qualms when he spirited away all of Kevin’s notebooks one night.

The sound Kevin made the next morning drove Sam into the main room with his coffee mug raised like it’d be useful in braining the demon army that was obviously invading the bunker because what else would elicit such a sound from Kevin—?

"They’re gone.” Kevin yanked books off the shelf and his voice came out a few octaves too high. The terror on his face made Sam’s stomach twist.

"What? What’s gone? What—Kevin.”

"My notebooks," Kevin babbled, now attacking the file cabinets along the far wall. "They’re all gone. Did. Shit, is Crowley gone too? Shit shit shitshitshitfuckityshitwe’refuckingdoomed."

A high pitched sound came from the far corner, and Sam turned to find Dean slumped against the wall and laughing hard enough that he looked like he was having trouble breathing.

"Hey, Kevin," Sam barked, then abandoned the mug and had to physically drag Kevin off of the cabinet files. (The guy was so small, was the problem. Small and young and apparently Sam was a massive hypocrite because his mind automatically converted that into He needs to be protected.)

"What?" Kevin looked at him with wild eyes, and Sam pointed at his asshole brother. Kevin stared at Dean, and it took him another few seconds for his eyes to narrow.

"Goddamn," he uttered. "Where are they, Dean?"

"In-in-in-" Dean sucked in another breath. "My room." He cracked up again. Sam huffed and stormed across the room, grabbing at Dean’s shirt and dragging him into the kitchen.

"Dude," Dean snapped, stumbling slightly.

"Okay, if you had to get Kevin involved, did you have to do that?” Sam demanded in a hiss. “That was a dick move.”

"Dude, you’re supposed to do things that press peoples’ buttons," Dean replied, all wide-eyed and disbelieving. "The kid’s so caught up in that tablet, it was the only thing that’d—"

"I don’t care," Sam snapped. "Don’t do that again. And leave him out of this."

Dean squinted at Sam like he was trying to figure out the secondary meaning behind his words.

"Yeah," he finally said slowly. "Yeah. Okay. Sorry."

When they reemerged from the kitchen, Kevin was already stalking back from Dean’s room with his notebooks in his arms and a curiously composed expression on his face.

***

Sam was in the library that night hiding from the classic water-above-a-door trick he’d spotted Dean rigging in one of the main control rooms.

"Hey," a voice greeted, and Sam lifted his head. Kevin ambled through the door and approached the table Sam was working at.

"Hey," Sam echoed, setting down his book. "Sorry again—"

"Dude, you’ve apologized four times now, it’s okay," Kevin waved a hand and grinned slightly. "I just wanted to say thanks for defending my honor and all that."

Sam ducked his head automatically. “Dean can be a jerk and it was a dumb prank,” he told the table. He heard Kevin laugh and scrape a chair across the floor to sit down.

"Wasn’t it?" Kevin asked, and Sam looked up to discover that Kevin’s grin had widened. "I mean, no finesse at all."

"The style was heavy-handed," Sam nodded seriously. "And the reveal was too blatant."

Kevin laughed. Kevin, Sam realized, was cute when he did that. Really cute.

"Anyway," Kevin said. "I mainly wanted to warn you not to use that Suave shampoo in the shower." Sam squinted and Kevin raised his hands in explanation. His fingers had hot pink stains. Sam felt his eyes widen.

"You didn’t.”

"Think it’ll show up?" Kevin asked, all barely subdued pure evil. "I got the professional grade dye."

Sam had to lay his head on the table and laugh until his abs hurt, and he could hear Kevin doing the same.


End file.
